A few years ago I lived in the guest house of a very nice woman named Sharon, and the one time I lived there when it snowed like a foot, I volunteered to shovel out her driveway only to spend like two hours getting nowhere. The reason for this is that Sharon had gone to her shed and returned with a snow shovel and a regular shovel, and for reasons I assume made sense at the time I opted to use the non-snow shovel only to discover that I was making things much harder on myself than they needed to be. Maybe I thought that I needed to dig holes in the snow before I could push it around with the snow shovel or something? Who knows, man. Eventually I figured out what I was doing enough that I could get the driveway clear, and in the process learned a very important lesson about choosing the right tools for the job.
Anyway, I got super excited last week because my weather app kept telling me that it was going to snow a bunch in Durham, but then when it was time for the snow to start the temperature would get to like 34 degrees. And so unlike seemingly everywhere else in America, we spent the past few days with a bunch of rain instead of being blizzarded upon like seemingly the rest of America.
In the official weather rankings, snow is better than rain. It’s novel when it snows, plus you can play in it and indulge in all the fun pre-snow rituals like buying toilet paper for no reason and trying to figure out which pair of pants you own have some combination of waterproofness and warmth. Meanwhile, I think that my dog got an ear infection from running around in the rain last month, which makes rain bad. Since it started raining like last Thursday and didn’t stop until 6 a.m. this morning, I haven’t been able to play golf, so I did the thing I always do when I haven’t been able to play golf, which is go to Play It Again Sports and buy a random used golf club for $15 that I’ll use like twice and then sell to Hillandale for store credit. This time it was a Callaway seven-wood from 15 years ago, which I bought because I have room in my bag for an extra club and who knows, maybe that extra club will be this old seven-wood. Once it’s dry out and I can play again, I will report back on how it performs, or maybe I’ll forget to and never bring it up again. Such is the magic of newsletters.
The fun thing about Callaway is that they have special silly names for some of their clubs, specifically their seven-woods, which they call “Heavenwoods,” and 11-woods, which they call the “Ely Would.” There’s not really any reason that they do this, other than maybe as a way to take the stigma out of using a seven- or 11-wood (*grumble grumble real golfers can hit a three-iron peas and carrots peas and carrots*), but I’m glad they did, because I am now going to tell you about the movie Some Kind of Heaven. I watched it over the weekend and loved it, and it vaguely involved golf so I decided to write about it.